Mean Guys
by Robottko
Summary: When John Watson moves to London after living in Afghanistan with his family for four years, he thinks his living in the middle of war is finally over. He soon realises that the war is never over, but takes a new shape in the form of Victor Trevor and his posse, the Plastics. *A Sherlock Holmes fic set in the Mean Girls universe*
1. Chapter 1

Ch. 1

I try my best to smile as the camera flashes. My mum is clinging onto my arm, crying into the new jumper she bought me for school.

"My baby is going to school." She blubbers, and I give her a reassuring pat on the back, which my dad catches immediately with his camera.

I suppose it's natural for parents to cry on their kid's first day of school, but this usually happens when the kid is five. I'm 16, and until today, I was home-schooled. I know what you're thinking, home-school kids are freaks, or are super religious. But my family's not like that. We're pretty normal, except for the fact that I grew up in Afghanistan. My father was in the military, and so we spent the last four years living nearby the army base where my dad was stationed. But now his years of active duty are up, and we're back to living in London. Well, most of us. My older sister, Harry, decided to go to Uni in America.

A few pictures later, and the three of us are piled in a car on the way to my new school, St. Bart's Prep. It's only a few blocks away, but my parents insist upon bringing me there themselves.

"I know you'll make us proud, John." My dad says as they pull up in front of St. Bart's.

"Thanks dad. I'll see you guys after school." I say, getting out of the car, flinging my bag over my shoulder. I walk quickly to the school, avoiding the groups of people I see waiting on the lawn. It's not that I didn't want to socialise, I just wanted to get to my first class before school started.

* * *

It didn't take me long to find my first class of the day: Advanced Biology with Dr. Hooper. The classroom was almost full, and I looked around quickly, trying to figure out which seat to take. My eyes landed on the closest seat, and I made a beeline towards it.

"You don't want to sit there." I hear a voice say, and I looked for the source. Two guys a couple seats down were looking back at me with identical grin's on their faces. Both of them were brunette, but the slimmer of the two was already starting to go silver. "Sally Donovan sits there. It's right next to her boyfriend, Mark Anderson, and they spend their time getting to know each other better." The one with the brown and silver hair boy continued.

"Getting to know each other?" I was confused. Did they talk turning class?

"Making out." The other says with a hearty chuckle. I cough in mortification, heading for a different seat.

"Oh god, not there!" The brown and silver haired boy says. "Henry Knight sits there, and he has night terrors when he sleeps."

Sure enough, the boy named Henry looked as though he were about to doze off. I walk away from him quickly, choosing to sit next to the two boys instead.

"Good choice. My name is Greg Lestrade." The boy with the brown and silver hair said, a grin on his face. "And that's Mike Stamford." He pointed to the larger boy, who waved.

"Nice to meet you. I'm John Watson." I introduce myself, shaking their hands.

"You're new, aren't you?" Mike says, and I nod.

"Moved here from Afghanistan. My dad was in the army." I explain quickly, "We lived there for four years…so since I was 12."

"12? That means you're 16 now." Mike is clearly surprised. "What are you doing in an advanced bio class?"

"I've always been really good at biology." I say with a shrug. "Best in my class…then again, I was home-schooled." Mike laughs at my lame joke, which in turn makes Greg and I grin.

"Sorry to say you won't be the best anymore." Greg says as Mike calms down. "We've got a genius in the class."

"A genius?" I smirk. Clearly they're having me on.

"Yeah, his name is Sherlock Holmes. He's brilliant, and also a psychopath." Mike rolls his eyes.

"I'm not a psychopath, Stamford, I'm a high-functioning sociopath. Do your research." A cold voice says from behind me. I watch Mike wince before I turn around to see the owner of the voice. He's tall, with pale skin and dark curls. What really catches my attention is his eyes. They're an impossible shade of blue, or possibly green.

"Hi, I'm John Watson." I say with a grin. Sherlock grimaces at me as if I've made a fashion faux-pas. Which I might have, I don't really know.

"Introductions?" He sneers. "How tedious. Another boring student in this miserable system our government calls _education._" He moves to the chair behind me, sitting unceremoniously.

"I'm not boring." I say, turning to look at him. "You don't even know me."

Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Greg and Mike making faces. Apparently I've done something wrong, but I can't imagine what.

"I know you're a transfer student. Your father served in the military in either Afghanistan or Iraq. Unsure of which, but it doesn't matter at the moment. You're the second child, you have an elder brother who's already left for university, living far enough away that you rarely see him. Most likely out of the country. Your ambition is to be like your father, a hero in the army. Most likely a medical doctor out there."

My jaw drops, and I stare at him in amazement. An odd look crosses his face, as though he's preparing for me to attack him.

"That was amazing!" I said, laughing slightly. "You got everything right. How did you know all that stuff?"

Sherlock gives me a half smile before replying. "Your tan. It's dark, but it stops at the wrist. You weren't on vacation. Your bag, which is a military standard, has a name on it: 'Harry'. That isn't your name, unlikely your fathers judging by the writing style. So, elder brother. The way you walk also suggests youngest child, but you have a confidence about you that hints at only child. Therefore, your brother just moved away, likely to Uni. As for your ambitions, it's clear in the way you sit. It's influenced by the military. You had positive experiences. The medical doctor was a shot in the dark, but a good one. All your extracurricular classes point towards an interest in medicine."

"Incredible." I say.

"You think so?" Sherlock looks pleased.

"Of course it was incredible." I chuckle, slightly.

"That's not what most people say." Sherlock says, watching me as if he's revaluating my worth.

"What do most people say?" I ask.

"Piss off." Sherlock responds, a wry smile on his face. "So, was I correct about everything?"

"Nearly." I smile at the surprised look on Sherlock's face. "Harry is short for Harriet."

* * *

During lunchtime I found myself sitting with Greg and Mike at a table by the wall. They were currently going over where every clique sat, though I could hardly pay attention.

"Where does Sherlock sit?" I blurt out, causing both boys to look at me.

"Sherlock rarely comes to lunch." Mike says finally. "And the only time he does, he sits with the Plastics."

"Plastics?" I give Mike a confused look.

"They're the most popular guys in school." Greg explains, pointing over to a table where three guys sat. "They're on the rugby team, and whatever they say or do is basically law."

"The short, dark haired one is Jim Moriarty." Mike says. "He's super cute, and super dumb. He's from Ireland, though, so all the girls and guys like him."

"The tall blond is Sebastian Moran." Greg picked up, pointing to a nasty looking boy. "His parents are really rich. I think his dad invented a new bomb or something."

"And who's the last one?" I ask, pointing at the one whose name I didn't know. He had light brown hair, tanned skin, and bright, white teeth. He was about as tall as Sherlock, and just as handsome.

"That's Victor Trevor." Mike says. "He's the leader of their little group."

"And he's Sherlock's on-again off-again boyfriend." Greg says. "Victor is quite attached to Sherlock, so I wouldn't make any moves."

"Make any…no!" I go red from embarrassment. "It's not like that."

"Shut up, yes it is." Mike grins at me, and I toss a roll at his face.

"Just be careful." Greg laughs. "Victor isn't afraid to get dirty to get what he wants. I would stay away from him."

* * *

**A/N: Oh my god, what have I done? I kept seeing Sherlock Holmes/Mean Girls gif sets, and I couldn't get it out of my brain, so I accidentally fic'd it. Oops.**

**If you read all that, have a cookie. You've earned it, you masochist, you.**

**All my love,**

**Robottko **


	2. Chapter 2

Ch. 2

I didn't think staying away from Victor Trevor or his group of plastics would be too difficult. It was clear that they would never even know of my existence, let alone deign to talk to me.

Boy, was I wrong.

"Dang it, I forgot milk." Mike pouts at his lunch tray. "This is a tragedy of epic proportions. How am I supposed to eat my lunch without milk?"

"You're such a drama queen, Mike." Greg was grinning.

"I'm not the queen of this group." Mike sniffs, looking faux-offended.

"What?" I was trying to keep up with the conversation, failing miserably.

"Greg is too gay to function." Mike explains to me, laughing at whatever reaction my face happened to twist itself into. I look over at Greg, and he has a pleased smile on his face.

"Guilty." He chuckles. "Don't look so surprised, John."

"I'm not." I say slowly.

"You're a terrible liar." Mike says, taking his turn to chuck a roll at me. "And the rules at this table state that if you're a terrible liar, you have to go get me milk."

"When did we make these rules?" Greg looks at Mike in confusion.

"Right now. I also elected myself king while you were busy talking. Now, get me my milk!" Mike says, a grin on his face.

"Alright, your majesty. I'll be back soon." I stand, stretching slightly before making my way towards the front of the lunchroom, my gaze focused on the cooler that held the milk.

A short, mousy brunette stops me halfway to the cooler, a small smirk on his face.

"We're taking a survey of all the new students." He begins smoothly. "Can you answer a few quick questions?"

"I suppose so." I say, unsure of what kind of survey this could be.

"Is your cherry popped?" The boy asks me. I stare at him in complete confusion. What on earth is he talking about? Was that some sort of dessert option in the lunch line?

"Excuse me?" I ask politely.

"Would you like me to assign someone to pop your cherry?" He continues, and I am even more confused. Is he offering to buy me a dessert? I'm not fond of cherries, but I would happily eat something pear flavoured. As I open my mouth to tell him this, another voice interrupts.

"Is he bothering you?" The voice says. It's a rich tenor voice, and I automatically know who it belongs to, even though I've never heard the man speak before. I turn around to see Victor Trevor standing there. He gives me a small smile before turning his brown eyes on the other boy. "God, Carl, why are you such a skeez?"

"I was being nice to the new student." Carl says, shrugging his shoulders. "Or is it against the rules for me to talk to the new student?"

"You were supposed to call me last night." A deep voice says. Sebastian glares at Carl, who gives the tall blond a weak grin.

"Carl, you don't come to a party at my house with Sebby, then hit on some innocent boy in front of us a few days later." Victor turns to me once more. "Do you want to have sex with him?"

"What? God, no." I splutter, shaking my head frantically.

Victor looks at Carl with a smile on his face, though it's unlike any smile I've seen before. Victor looks like he would very much like to tear Carl apart. Carl takes a step back, any smugness completely gone.

"Good. That's settled then. Goodbye Carl." Victor dismisses the small brunette, who practically sprints out of the lunchroom.

"Thanks." I say to Victor, turning to continue my journey to the milk cooler. A hand on my shoulder stops me.

"Sit down with us." Victor says, and it's fairly clear that I don't have much of a choice. I nod, and Victor's hand drops away from my shoulder as he moves back to his chair. I sit across from him, glancing briefly at Sebastian Moran and Jim Moriarty. The later wiggles his fingers in a bright hello, and I can't help but reciprocate his smile. "What's your name, anyway?"

"Oh…Um, I'm John Watson." I say quickly, turning back to Victor. "I just moved here a few weeks ago from Afghanistan."

"If you're from Afghanistan, why are you white?" Jim asks, confusion clear on his face. I stare at him for a few seconds, trying to figure out if he's joking or not.

"Oh my god, Jim." Sebastian rolls his eyes. "You can't just ask people why they're _white._"

Jim opens his mouth to say something, but he is quickly cut off by Victor.

"Oh my god, I love your jumper! Where did you get it?" The tall brunette says, his eyes focused on me.

"Second hand store." I tell him, looking down at my multi-coloured jumper. "In London. My mum bought it for me as a 'first day of school' gift."

"That's pretty nifty." Sebastian says, a small grin on his face.

"Nifty?" Victor turns to Sebastian, annoyance and disgust on his face. "What the hell is 'Nifty'?"

"It's like…slang. From America." Sebastian defends quickly. "I means cool or awesome. It's going to catch on here really soon."

Victor rolls his eyes at Sebastian, placing a clearly fake smile expertly on his face when he turns to me. "Excuse us for one second, yeah?" He says. Before I can answer, Jim, Sebastian and Victor huddle in a tight circle, and I can't make out what they're saying. Mike and Greg catch my eye, and I shrug in confusion. Before they can ask any more non-verbal questions across the lunchroom, the three boys turn back to me with large grins on their faces.

"Okay, we don't do this a lot, so you should know that this is a huge deal." Victor says before I can ask them what's going on. He flicks a look at Sebastian, who picks up on the one sided conversation effortlessly. It's like they planned it or something.

"We want to invite you to eat lunch with us every day for the rest of the year." The tall blond says. It's clear that, even though this is an invitation, I'm not allowed to decline. The bell that signals the end of lunch rings shrilly, and I find myself at the intense scrutiny of three pairs of eyes.

"Um…yeah. Okay." I agree.

"Great!" Victor says, his already large grin growing bigger. "We'll see you tomorrow."

"And remember!" Jim speaks, his Irish brogue softens his words. "On Tuesdays we wear green!"

* * *

"You have to do it!" Greg and Mike have swept me into a loo, interrogating me as to what had happened during lunch. Mike has completely forgotten his annoyance that I never got his milk, and he is far more interested in my tale. Greg continues talking as his face grows ever more amused. "You have to do it, and then tell us about ever awful thing Victor says!"

"Victor didn't seem that bad." I reply softly. A little bossy, perhaps, but not mean. "He actually seems nice."

"You're kidding, right?" Greg shakes his head. "Victor Trevor is _not_ nice. He's the most…plastic of The Plastics."

"He's fabulous." Mike agrees solemnly. "But he's evil."

"I don't know…what would we even talk about?" I ask. I must be mad to even consider this.

"Lady Gaga?" Mike suggested.

"The rising cost of hair product?" Greg grins. "Please say you'll do it!"

"Yeah, fine." I laugh, shaking my head slowly. "Do either of you own any green shirts?"

"I do." Mike says. "I'll bring it for you tomorrow."

* * *

The end of the day rapidly approaches, and all too soon, I find myself leaving St. Bart's. Walking down the stone steps that I found so imposing just that morning. As I dart around the corner, heading for home, I run solidly into someone who is leaning against the wall. We fall to the ground in a tangle of limbs.

"Christ! Sorry." I apologise, pulling myself off the boy. I flush in embarrassment when I realise who I ran into.

"Ah, hello John." Sherlock says, the annoyance falling off his face when he glances up at me. "I would say it's been a pleasure running into you, but I rather loath the obvious pun the sentence promotes."

I can't help but chuckle, and I stand, offering my hand to Sherlock. He accepts, and I pull him up quickly.

"Too late, you said it. You've committed the worst of pun crimes." I say, and I am rewarded with a quick twitch of his lips. "I met your boyfriend today."

Sherlock looks confused for a brief second, bringing a cigarette to his lips and lighting it with a quick flick of a small lighter. His expression clears, and he rolls his eyes at me.

"We are not currently dating." Sherlock informs me, blowing a plume of smoke between his lips. It's almost artistic, and he's clearly mastered and I would appreciate it more if I wasn't so against smoking.

"Right. Good." I respond without thinking. "Christ…I mean…_not_ good. Unless you broke it off, which…um…good on you." My face heats again, and I am mortified to see a smirk growing on Sherlock's face.

"John-" He begins, but I cut him off, tugging at my bag straps.

"I've got to get home." I say quickly. "I'll see you later."

I walk away before Sherlock can say anything else. Not once to I turn and look back, but I swear I can feel Sherlock's eyes assessing me as I leave, his gaze pinned to my figure before I turn a corner and am out of his sight.

* * *

**A/N: Thank you all for the wonderful reviews. For Saavikam69: Here's your chocolate milk!**

**This work isn't beta'd or britpicked, so don't be afraid to point out any mistakes. I love each and every one of you. You all make my day!**

**Yours,**

**Robottko**


	3. Chapter 3

Ch. 3

The next afternoon I found myself sitting with the plastics, wearing an oversized green t-shirt of Mike's that reached my mid-thighs. I had arrived before Victor, but Jim and Sebastian had beat me to the table. I didn't consider this an entirely terrible thing, because the pair were giving me pointers on how to be cool, or something.

"Red clothing is reserved for Mondays." Sebastian says, eating a spoonful of what I suspect is corn, though the bright orange colour was throwing me off. "And green for Tuesday. You're not allowed to wear t-shirts two days in a row, and you're only allowed to have your hair product free once a week…I guess you picked today." His eyes flicked up to my hair, which was lying nice and chemical-free against my scalp.

"And if you break any of these rules, you can't sit with us at lunch." Jim pipes in, taking a large bite out of an orange, which seems to be a normal colour, thank god.

"We always vote before we ask someone to eat lunch with us." Sebastian continues as if he never stopped speaking. "Because you have to be considerate of the rest of the group. Same goes with potential boyfriends or girlfriends. You might think you like someone, but you could be wrong." I'm not sure if I imagine it, but I think I see Sebastian glance over at Jim before turning back to me.

"Has anyone caught your eye?" Jim asks me cheerfully, completely oblivious to Sebastian.

"Well…" I say, my cheeks reddening. How do I tell them that not only has someone 'caught' my eye, but that person is, most decidedly, a boy? I roll my eyes internally, realising that all three of them are gay, so it wouldn't really matter, would it? "There is this guy in my biology class…"

"Who is it?" Sebastian asks quickly, "Do we know him?"

"Um…" I begin, looking around the cafeteria for a distraction. This turns out to be a bad idea, because it turns out Sherlock Holmes has decided to eat lunch today. I might have been looking for too long, because when I turn back to Jim and Sebastian, they are looking at me with shock.

"No!" Sebastian shakes his head emphatically.

"No no no." Jim agrees with Sebastian, his normally pleasant demeanour gone. "You can't like Sherlock Holmes, that's Victor's ex."

"They've been going out on and off for about a year." Sebastian says. "Sherlock broke up with Victor for no good reason a couple of weeks ago."

"Victor cheated on Sherlock." Jim reminds the tall blond.

"It doesn't matter. Ex-boyfriends are off limits." Sebastian waves Jim's words away. "Don't worry, John. We won't tell Victor what you said. It will be our little secret."

I nod, completely mortified. I highly doubt it would matter if Victor knew or not. I would never be seen as competition to the tall brunette boy. I glance over, surprised to see Sherlock walking towards our little group, though I shouldn't have been. Greg and Mike told me that Sherlock eats here when he, you know, deigns to eat.

"Moran, Moriarty." Sherlock says coolly, setting his lunch tray on the table, plopping into the seat next to me. "John. I didn't realise you sat here."

"Invited yesterday." I say, quickly taking a wedge of orange and popping it into my mouth. "Victor saved me from Carl….um…" I never did catch a last name

"Carl who?" Sherlock asks, looking confused.

"Carl Powers." Sebastian says, looking annoyed. "He's on the swim team. He was hitting on John."

Sherlock gets a look on his face that I can't decipher. I open my mouth to ask if he's alright, but I'm quickly interrupted by Victor, who is fashionably late.

"Sherlock!" Victor grins, "You're eating with us today. We've missed you so much. You probably haven't met the newest member of our group! Sherlock this is…John, what are you wearing?" Victor's face wrinkles when he sees my shirt.

"I didn't have any green, so I had to borrow something." I say quickly, trying to look unaffected. It's really quite mortifying, though.

"Don't worry, John. You look fine." Sherlock tells me, and I grin in response. I figure that even if I wasn't allowed to like Sherlock, I could still look at him.

"Whatever." Victor says, rolling his eyes in a way that suggests he was bored with the conversation. "Did you see the jeans Glen Coco was wearing today? I think this is the third time this week he's worn them!"

* * *

It was later, after I had gotten home and swapped the large green t-shirt for a more comfortable jumper that I got a text.

I was in my bathroom, attempting to figure out how to apply product in my hair-really, that stuff is difficult to figure out-when my phone buzzes. I jump slightly before picking up the mobile, surprised to see an unknown number instead of Mike asking when he would get his shirt back. I open the message, frowning at its contents.

**St. Bart's, near the pool. Come at once if convenient.**

**SH**

Who is this person, and why do they want me to go to the pool? I delete the message, thinking they probably got the wrong number. Less than a minute later, however, I receive another one.

**If inconvenient, come anyway.**

**SH**

I study the initials closer this time. I only know one person with those initials, and I never gave him my number. It couldn't possibly be him, could it? I type out a short response, sending it before I can talk myself out of it.

**Sherlock? Is this you?**

The reply is almost immediate, and even though I've only known Sherlock for a couple of days, there is no doubt in my mind that it's him.

**Obviously. Don't ask ridiculous questions, John. **

**SH**

I snort at the response, but before I can ask him how he got my number, I get yet another text from him.

**Could be dangerous.**

**SH**

I tell myself that I'm only going to keep the idiot out of danger, because I'm not allowed to like him. And just because I'm not allowed to like him doesn't mean I can't be his friend, right? After all, the Plastics are his friend, even though Victor dated Sherlock, and I'm part of the Plastics.

That sounds so much better in my head than it does on paper.

* * *

I arrive at St. Bart's, surprised to see the place swarming with all different kinds of emergency personnel. I wonder if Sherlock went and got hurt, but before the fear can fully form, I spot the tall brunette arguing with a police officer.

"Is everything okay?" I ask, jogging up to them. The police officer makes a face, clearly annoyed that there are now two of us. "What happened?"

"Carl Powers." Sherlock says, turning to me. There is an excited glint in his eyes that knocks the breath out of me. "He was murdered."

"He wasn't murdered, he drowned in the pool!" The officer says, and I have a feeling this isn't the first time he's saying it. "It was an accident, nothing more."

"Carl Powers?" I ask, surprised that I know the name. "That's the boy that stopped me in the cafeteria yesterday."

Sherlock raises an eyebrow, studying me more intently. Flustered, I take a step back, unsure of the scrutiny. It looks as though Sherlock is trying to make a connection between the death of Carl Powers and me.

"What?" I ask, taking a step back. "I didn't to it."

"Of course you didn't do it, kid." The officer sighs. "He drowned, nothing more."

"His shoes." Sherlock said, his attention shifting back to the officer. "They're missing."

"Yeah, I know." The officer said, "We think someone came to get them."

"None of his other clothes were gone!" Sherlock grinds out, looking extremely annoyed. "It's obviously murder, and all of you are too idiotic to notice!"

The officer looks at me pleadingly. "Kid, you and your boyfriend need to leave. This isn't a place for kids to be hanging out."

"He's not my boyfriend." I say quickly, just as Sherlock is saying "We're not kids!"

"Yeah yeah," The officer sighs, turning from us. "Get out of here before you're escorted off the property."

I sigh, turning to look at Sherlock. He looks furious at being ignored.

"If it helps at all, I believe you." I offer. He turns to look at me, softening slightly.

"You are hardly an authority figure on the subject, but I thank you for your support." He says, and though the words should be offensive, there isn't any bite in them. I grin at Sherlock.

"So, how did you get my number?" I ask as we walk away from the small crowd. Sherlock smirks at me, pulling out a cigarette.

"It was hardly difficult." He says, lighting the fag. "I cornered Lestrade before our physical education class. While questioning him on his opinions of the current market, I stole his phone. Sure enough, he had your number. I memorised it before giving his mobile back to him."

I laughed, running a hand through my hair, annoyed when it came back sticky.

"First time using product?" Sherlock asked, glancing up at my hair, which I am sure was sticking up all over the place.

"Yeah, never got the hang of it." I say. "You know, you could have just asked me for my number. It would have been easier."

"But this was far more exciting." Sherlock chuckled, reaching out to smooth down my fringe. I freeze, and Sherlock seems to come to his senses, pulling his hand away quickly.

"Right, well this has been fun." I say, willing my face not to turn red.

"Quite." Sherlock comments, a smirk on his face once more. "And you make an excellent assistant, John. Even though we never managed to get in to look at the crime scene. I do believe we'll have to do this again."

"What, stand outside a crime scene, demanding to be let in?" I chuckled.

"No, actually solve a crime." Sherlock rolls his eyes. "We will find out who murdered Carl Powers, John. Mark my words."

* * *

**A/N: Thank you for the follows, comments and favorites! You all make my day so bright and wonderful!**

**Yours,**

**Robottko**


	4. Chapter 4

Ch. 4

It turns out that solving a crime with no evidence is a lot harder to do than you would expect. Not that such a minor inconvenience would stop Sherlock Holmes.

"Where are you going?" I ask Sherlock as he trails me home. He gives me a look that seems to question my intelligence.

"Obvious, John. I'm going to your house." He quips, his thumbs flying across the buttons on his mobile.

"Er…why?" I ask, barely surprised that he invited himself over.

"Because my brother will snoop if we go to mine." Sherlock says, as if this is the most obvious thing in the world.

"No, that's not what I mean." I roll my eyes. "Why are we hanging out?"

"Why not?" Sherlock smirks, pocketing his mobile. "You're my assistant, and I am trying to solve a murder."

"At my house?" I ask as we make it to the door. "Won't that be a little difficult?"

"Only to an untrained mind." Sherlock said, walking into my house just after me. "Ah, this must be your family!"

My mum and dad are sitting on the sofa in front of the telly. Both of them look up in surprise when they hear us come in.

"Oh, hello!" My mum speaks first, coming over to shake Sherlock's hand. "You must be one of Johnny's new friends!"

"Sherlock Holmes." Sherlock says, grabbing her hand and kissing it, like he was some 15th century knight or something. Did people really still do that? "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Shooting a look of disbelief at Sherlock, I wave a hand at my parents. "Sherlock, this is my mum and dad. Mum and dad, Sherlock. Now, we have to go study."

"Keep a door open!" My dad calls with a laugh, and I can feel my face turning bright red.

"Dad, not funny." I say, which causes him to crack up even more. Shooting an apologetic look at Sherlock, I practically drag him into my room.

"Sorry about that." I say as soon as I close the door. Sherlock just chuckles, flopping down on my bed without invitation.

"It's hardly any trouble." Sherlock says, almost to himself. "Your parents are much more pleasant than Victor or Moran's parents."

"What about Jim's?" I ask conversationally.

"Never met them." He replies, snatching up my laptop. I debate on complaining, but Sherlock doesn't seem the type to care who's stuff he's using, or if it makes the person upset.

I look over Sherlock's shoulder, trying to figure out what he's doing. Apparently Facebook is a valuable tool for solving murders.

"Are you expecting to see a death threat on there or something?" I ask, causing Sherlock to snort. "Because that would be really stupid of the murderer…and I don't think the police are that oblivious."

"Don't be ridiculous, John." Sherlock rolled his eye. "I'm trying to figure out who would have motive to kill Powers. Tell me, when he hit on you yesterday, was anyone around to see it?"

"Er…yeah. The whole cafeteria." I say. "Not that most of them paid much attention, mind. I'm nothing more than the new kid."

"Oh, you're much more than that, John. Or haven't you heard?" Sherlock looks up at me, a small smirk on his face. "You're a well-known lady killer according to the rumours Victor has been spreading. The female population knows you as 'Three-Continents Watson'."

"Three…what?" I blurt out, shaking my head in confusion. "I haven't even slept with a girl."

"You haven't?" Sherlock's smirk grew. "Interesting."

"Oh, shut up." I say with a roll of my eyes. My mobile chooses at that moment to beep, a welcome relief from Sherlock's scrutiny. "One moment, I have to take this."

Turning away from Sherlock, I answer my phone with a curt greeting. I wasn't expecting the response that I received.

"I know your secret." The voice was soft and slow, betraying no emotion. Victor.

"I don't know what you're talking about." I reply instantaneously. Does Victor know that I'm currently hanging out with Sherlock? That I'm friends with Greg and Mike, who completely hate him?

"It's okay, I don't mind." Victor says. "I don't blame you…Sherlock is kind of cute."

"What?" My brain is having difficulties keeping up with the conversation.

"You have a crush on Sherlock. Sebastian told me. It's kind of sweet, actually." Victor sounds as if he's smiling, but not mockingly so. "I could talk to him, if you want. Find out how he feels about you?"

"That…you don't have to do that." I say, but I can't help smile back. Victor seems like a really nice guy. A little strange, but nice.

"But I want to. You're my friend now, and Sherlock is my friend. And that's what friends do!" Victor sounds excited now. "Oh, you guys would make such a cute couple."

"Well, thanks." I reply. "I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?"

"Of course! Lunch table, same time, same place. Just don't be too angry at Sebby."

"I'm not angry at him." I chuckle, shaking my head.

"Why not?" Victor sounds confused. "I mean, he did tell me your big secret, and he _promised_ you that he wouldn't tell."

"Er…that's true." I say slowly. "I mean, its fine. He's probably just likes to gossip. But I'm not mad at him or anything."

"Oh great!" Victor sounds pleased. "See Sebby, dear! Johnny isn't mad at you!"

"I can't believe you think I like to gossip." Sebastian's deep voice shocks me slightly. Apparently he had been listening in.

"Ciao, darling!" Victor crows, and my line goes dead. Well, that was interesting.

Shaking my head, I turn back to Sherlock, who is completely immersed in whatever research he was currently doing.

"There is a number of people who could have sufficient motive to murder Powers." Sherlock sounds frustrated, and he thankfully didn't seem to catch any of my conversation with Victor. "But no one is clever enough to have orchestrated it!"

"Maybe it was just a drowning." I respond, and Sherlock shoots me a glare.

"Don't be intentionally idiotic, John." He says scathingly. "No, we're just going to have to wait for another body to turn up before we can find the common denominator."

"Another…you think this is going to happen again?" I splutter.

"I don't think, I know." Sherlock says, his face and tone smug. "The killer, or killers, are trying to make a point. What that point is, I don't know. But I intend to find out."

* * *

The rest of September and October passed in the same manner. I found myself getting closer to the Plastics, as well as Mike and Greg. My popularity skyrocketed until girls would hang around my locker, trying to talk to me, and I got great grades, making my mum and dad proud. But the best thing was my friendship with Sherlock Holmes. Even though there was a distinct lack of murders, Sherlock continued to come over to my house, stealing my laptop for research purposes. All in all, it was a good beginning to my first year in a London school. I was even invited to Victor Trevor's annual Halloween party.

And that is where everything went to hell.

* * *

**A/N: Thank you for all the lovely reviews/follows/favorites! Please don't be afraid to point out any errors, as this is unbeta'd/not brit-picked. You're all lovely!**

**yours truly,**

**Robottko**


	5. Chapter 5

Ch. 5

"I've been invited to Victor Trevor's annual Halloween party." I tell Greg and Mike. It's the early morning, and we're currently hiding behind the school. Not my idea, of course. Mike seems to think that we need to hide when we hang out. Something about not giving away my secret identity or something, as if I'm some kind of superhero.

"You have to go." Greg says at once, and I raise my eyebrow. "To see Victor in his natural habitat. You'll see what he's really like."

"Victor is nice." I repeat for what seems to be the millionth time since I've met Greg. "And I've been to Victor's house before."

"Yeah, but not for a party." Mike said, and I shrugged. That was true. I always came up with some excuse to skive off the parties. This one looked to be unavoidable, though.

Not that it mattered. After all, Sherlock Holmes was going to be at this party. I hadn't seen a lot of him recently. The lack of murders made it difficult to track the killer, so we were meeting less often. That didn't stop him from randomly breaking into my room and using my laptop for research. It only happened once a week, if that, and I was really missing him.

"I planned on going." I said. "I've never been to a Halloween party before, so it'll be a great experience."

* * *

It was not a great experience.

It turns out that scary costumes are a thing of the past. I expected Victor's house to be full of ghosts, werewolves, and the like, but I was almost instantaneously bombarded by scantily clad women and guys dressed up as sports stars. I was completely out of place in my vampire costume.

"Are you supposed to be a cat?" A particularly dumb girl asks. She had introduced herself to me weeks ago, but it was one of those names that half the girls you know have. I knew it was a Jennifer…

"Er…no. A vampire." I say slowly, raising an eyebrow at the blond. She gave me a startled look, and I wondered if my costume was that ineffective.

"Why would you want to be a vampire? They're so scary!" She says, looking at me wide-eyed. Jennifer was dressed as a pink fairy or some such thing, though it was hard to tell because she looked like a pink version of every other girl in the room.

"Perhaps that is the goal." A voice rumbles from behind me, and I whip around to see Sherlock dressed as a pirate captain. He didn't have anything flashy like a hook or an eye-patch, but his detailed greatcoat and captain's hat told it all. It also didn't help that he had a dark smudge of eyeliner around his eyes, making the blue pop.

"After all," Sherlock continues, oblivious to my staring. "You're still trying to flirt with him even though he's obviously disinterested. I believe scaring you away is the next best thing."

Jennifer's face went a brilliant pink, matching her sparkling dress quite well. Without another word, she whipped around, darting through the crowd of people to get as far away from Sherlock and me as possible.

"That wasn't very nice." I cluck, crossing my arms over my chest. Sherlock just gives me a smirk, mirroring my posture.

"But true." He argues. "You weren't interested in her. You're too oblivious when people flirt with you, and she is too idiotic to not notice that."

I sigh. He's right, of course, and my facial expression must tell him that I've given up, because his smirk grows more triumphant.

"I like your costume." I say finally. "I was worried you were going to be a football star or something."

Sherlock chuckles, tugging at the pirate greatcoat as if showing it off. "Your costume is better. I always like a good vampire story."

I grin, opening my mouth to respond when a voice behind me makes me jump.

"Sherlock! John! So fantastic to see you." Victor crows, placing an arm around my shoulders. Victor is a football star, unsurprisingly, and his cleats only serve to make him taller.

"Hey Victor." Sherlock and I respond in sync. Victor beams at Sherlock, giving my shoulders what I assume is a reassuring squeeze.

"Can I talk to you Sherly?" He asks, his lip pouting slightly. Sherlock quirks an eyebrow at Victor.

"Is that not what we're doing now?" He asks, and Victor grins at him.

"I meant over by the punch bowl." Victor gestures to the large bowl of punch, which has steadily become less punch and more vodka as the night went on. Sherlock rolled his eyes, but he walked over to the bowl all the same, turning to give Victor a look as if to say 'why are you wasting my time?'

"Don't worry, Johnny." Victor whispers. "I'll talk to Sherlock for you." He turns, walking over to Sherlock. For one brief second I was confused. Then I remembered my conversation with the light brunette that happened several weeks ago. My face heats up, and I can only watch in detached horror as they begin to talk.

It seems to start off friendly, both Sherlock and Victor are relaxed as they chat, but all too soon Sherlock seems to get agitated. He glances over at me several times, and each time I look away, pretending to be interested in a painting or someone's conversation. I don't get why Greg and Mike seem to hate Victor. This may be terribly uncomfortable, but he's only trying to be nice.

At least that's what I thought. Any idea of Victor being wonderful and kind goes out the window when the he leans forward and presses his lips against Sherlock's.

It takes almost a full minute for me to comprehend what I am seeing, and by that point Sherlock has stopped struggling, and is now snogging Victor quite enthusiastically. And it's not as if I can look away. The sight is so surprising and terrible that I can't stop watching, but what really gets to me is how much it _hurts. _He knew that I liked Sherlock, and he waited until they were directly in front of me before he decided to get back together with him. It's the absolute worst thing anyone's done to me and…

"Oh yay!" A cheery voice breaks me out of my current state of hyperventilation. "They're back together!"

I look over to see a beaming Jim Moriarty and an amused looking Sebastian Moran. I give them a weak smile and clear my throat.

"Uh, yeah. Looks like they are." I say rather weakly. "I have to go now…but I'll see you guys later."

"You're leaving already?" Sebastian asks, and I shrug, trying to look careless.

"Yeah, I'm not…er…in the party mood. Bye." I make a quick exit, darting through the crowd in the opposite direction of the newly happy couple. If I stay for even a second longer, I would probably throw up, and that won't win me any points with anyone.

I grab my mobile, punching in Greg's number. It barely has a chance to ring before he picks up.

"Hey!" He says cheerfully. "How's the party?"

"Awful." I practically growl into the phone. "I hate this party and I hate Victor."

"Whoa whoa whoa!" Mike's voice interrupts. Of course Greg put me on speaker. "What happened?"

I slide through the back door, the night air crisp and peaceful. I am wonderfully and horribly alone out here.

"Victor decided to get back together with Sherlock." I explain, and the two boys hiss in sympathy.

"I told you he was bad news." Greg said, and I let out a choked laugh.

"He's a right arse, he is." I respond. "Now, how again did you want to ruin Trevor's reputation?"

I can almost hear the identical smirks from the men over the phone. The excitement is practically palpable, and I swear I hear one of them rubbing their hands together diabolically.

"We have whole lists to go off of." Mike chuckles. "How quickly can you get here?"

"It should take me about ten minutes." I tell them. "I'll start walking-"

With a grunt of pain, I trip over something solid, landing painfully on my elbows and knees. Concern from Greg and Mike barely filter through my thoughts as I stare in horror at what I just tripped over.

"Guys…I'll call you back." I tell them slowly, hanging up my mobile and sliding it in my pocket. No matter how angry I am at Victor Trevor, there are some things that can't be ignored.

Namely, that of body of the pink fairy Jennifer.


	6. Chapter 6

I call the police before leaving Victor's party, letting them know about the body in an anonymous tip. I shot Sherlock a text, letting him know that there was a perfectly good body outside that he could look at, warning him that I called Scotland Yard, and that they should be there soon. He never replied.

Not that I expected him to. Last time I saw him, he had been in the middle of a lovely looking face-sucking contest. I pocketed my mobile, walking down the street rather quickly as I stripped off my cape, taking out my vampire teeth and chucking them in a bin along the side of the road.

It only took me eight and a half minutes to get to Greg's house, though it helps that I was walking faster than normal, and I cut through a few yards. I was met with instant sympathy, and I hated every second of it.

"What can we do to get back at Victor?" I interrupt before I can hear one of those dreaded apologises. You know, the ones where you have to tell them it's not their fault, and then they apologise again. The pair shoot me identical grins, all chance of awkward apologies out the window.

"The way I see it, Victor Trevor has three things that make him the king of the school." Greg replies, grabbing a small chalkboard and a tiny nub of chalk barely big enough to write with. "The boys, and girls, who think he's some sort of sex god. His hair that he religiously maintains, and we can't forget his little friends."

Greg turns the board around so I can read his list that was written in a messy scrawl.

Sherlock Holmes.

His (quite possibly plastic, it's so perfect) hair

Brain-dead zombies (aka Plastics)

Mike smirks at the list, nodding in approval. "Get rid of these, and Victor is no longer king." He says cheerfully, causing Greg and I to grin back at him. "Time to destroy the Plastics."

* * *

Our plans started the day after the Halloween party. Victor had been complaining all week that his hair was looking less shiny than normal, something we all worked to vehemently deny at every opportunity. It worked to Greg, Mike and I's advantage, however. Grabbing an empty container from my house, we filled it with foot crème. The packaging was written in Farsi, which was easy enough to play off. I brought the container to school the next day, and I was immediately cornered by Jim Moriarty.

"Johnny!" Jim says as he pulls me to the side. "I wanted to talk to you. Victor feels _so _bad about what happened last night."

I shoot the black haired boy a tight smile, and it's apparently convincing enough, because Jim continues to talk. "I mean, it isn't really his fault. Victor's, I mean. He's just so good looking, so all the boys and girls in the school want him. Who could blame them? But he still feels guilty."

"No, no. It's…fine." I manage to say, trying to ignore the hurtful words. It's not working very well. "I totally get it. I brought Victor a gift to show him that I'm not mad."

Jim beams at me, clapping his hands together happily. "Oh, I knew you wouldn't be mad, Johnny boy! You're just _so_ nice. Victor will be so happy to know that you aren't mad!"

I watch as Jim practically skips off. Wait…there's actual skipping. Jim Moriarty literally skips away from me, and all I can do is watch in disbelief. That kid is weird. Nice, but weird. I pull out the bottle of foot crème, and smile pleasantly at it. "Just wait until you see how _not mad_ I really am."

Finding Victor is easy as his early morning routine is always the same. I find him camped out in the nicest boy's lavatory. He's brushing away at his brown hair, trying to make it stick up the way he wants. I hold out the bottle of foot crème to him, and he shoots me a surprised look.

"It's special hair crème from Afghanistan." I say, working my lips into something resembling a smile. "It's supposed to make your hair really shiny. It's an apology for making you think that I was mad at you."

Victor smiles at me, pulling me into a hug. "Oh, Johnny! I knew you wouldn't be mad. I mean, Sherlock and I make the _cutest _couple. Don't you agree?"

"Oh…yes. The cutest." I respond flatly, but it hardly matters, as Victor isn't really paying attention.

"It couldn't be helped. He's just so in love with me, really." Victor said, rubbing the foot crème into his hair now. "I mean, who isn't?"

"Everyone loves you, Victor." I reply, tugging on my book bag. "I have to go to class. See you at lunch."

"Bye!" Victor calls after me, waving with his clean hand as I leave.

* * *

The foot crème thing turns out to be a massive failure. Not only did it actually give Victor shinier hair, but Sherlock appeared to love the smell as well, as he kept his face buried near his head. For his part, Victor played up their new/old relationship, running his hand through Sherlock's hair, pressing kisses wherever he could reach, and smiling not-so-innocently in my direction. It took all my willpower not to just knock the bastard out, and I had to remind myself constantly that I was the shortest one at the lunch table. Not that I couldn't take any of the Plastics in a fight, but three against one is never easy.

The next thing Greg, Mike and I try is bleaching his jeans, but that ends in failure as well. By the weeks end, everyone has bleached their overpriced jeans, trying to follow Victor's trend.

Everything we try doesn't seem to be working. Sherlock still seems to be totally in love with Victor, so much so that he barely talks to me anymore, and the idea of turning the Plastics against Victor seems to be fruitless. A month after the Halloween party, and all we had managed to do was make Victor's hair smell minty.

However, Christmas time brought all sorts of new prospects, and I had a brilliant idea involving the student senate's current fundraiser. After all, who didn't like getting candy canes?

* * *

_**A/N: **_

**_Today (August 31st) is my birthday, and for my birthday, I decided to update this fic! (Okay, I know it's not a great present, but I didn't know what else to get you...) I would like to apologize profusely for the humongously long delay in getting this out. As I told someone in the comments, my family has been having some personal drama, and while it is of the good variety (once you get past the shock) it is very, for lack of a better word, dramatic. Sitting down to my poor little laptop has been a no-go. (Also, my poor, sad little laptop needed a new battery and plug in, as it would die every time I would unplug it from the wall, but that's hardly an excuse. I just needed to become friendlier with walls, is all) _**  
**_Seriously, I never thought I would get a single kudo on this fic, and now I have the most wonderful readers in the entire world. You deserve hourly updates, you do, and I would give them to you if I could. But for now, I offer this measly present._**

**_kisses, hugs, and ladybugs,_**  
**_Robottko_**


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